


The rush before we touch

by flowerfan



Series: Brooklyn [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Comfort, M/M, PTSD, Post-CA:CW, Protective Steve Rogers, Recovery, Second First Time, Sexytimes, pining Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-03 02:20:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8692603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerfan/pseuds/flowerfan
Summary: Bucky’s allowed to want things, he knows this, he’s been telling himself this for two years.  He can have a plum if he wants one, if he’s got the money and there’s one for sale.  But Steve isn’t a plum, and it’s not just up to him.
   Set in the Brooklyn ‘verse, post-CA:CW; no need to have read part 1.





	

Bucky is exhausted when Steve brings him back to his place in Brooklyn. He figures he is allowed – coming out of cryo, getting his head straightened out by T’Challa’s doctors, and then letting Tony Stark give him a new arm would be a lot for anyone to deal with in the space of a month. Steve brings him into the bedroom, politely turning aside while Bucky changes into the pajamas laid out for him, and then tucks him into bed. He hardly notices when Steve leaves the room and doesn’t come back in.

But when he wakes up the next morning and sees the pile of blankets on the couch, he wonders if he has been reading too much into the whole situation. Steve’s support has been nonstop – always – but Bucky should know better than to assume it would be easy, stepping back into his life. 

Bucky shoves away the pile of negative thoughts that threaten to overwhelm him, pulls on a clean pair of jeans and a long sleeved henley from the neatly folded pile in his duffel bag, and goes into the kitchen. There is a note on the counter from Steve, letting him know he’s gone running and to help himself to bagels and coffee. Bucky has just sliced a marble bagel and popped it in the toaster when he hears Steve’s footsteps on the stairs. He runs his fingers through his hair, plasters a smile on his face, and turns to the door.

“Bucky, hi,” Steve said, getting a glass out of the cabinet and pouring himself some water. “Sleep okay?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Would have been better with you there, Bucky thinks. “Good run?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Sparkling conversationalists, we are not.

Steve gives him an awkward smile, then excuses himself to take a shower. When he emerges from the bedroom later, clean and dressed in khakis and a gray t-shirt that pulls attractively over his broad chest, he pauses at the table where Bucky is still nursing a cup of decaf.

“So, um, did you have any plans for today?” Steve asks.

Bucky just stares at him for a moment, and Steve sighs, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Okay, right, probably no plans yet.”

Bucky glances around the kitchen. It’s tidy, but doesn’t really look very lived in. There’s nothing on the counter except for a coffee maker and the bakery bag with the bagels. And the whole place is beige. He knows Steve was away recently – he was in Wakanda when they woke Bucky up, and has been shepherding him around for the past few weeks – but that doesn’t really account for the emptiness of the place. “Do you actually live here?”

“What?”

Bucky feels stupid, then, as he so often does these days. “Is this really your place? Or is it just something…” Something you arranged for me. To make Bucky feel better. To make him feel safe.

But Steve completely misses the gist of Bucky’s question. “Of course it’s really my place. I rent it from Ruth Cohen, she’s a sweetheart. She lives on the first two floors.” Steve motions over towards his bedroom. “There’s a second bedroom too, but it doesn’t have a bed yet. I should have gotten it ready for you, just in case.”

Great, now Steve just feels bad, and he still doesn’t get it. “Don’t worry about it, really,” Bucky says. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I guess I haven’t done much decorating,” Steve says, looking around the place. It’s as bland as a hotel room, although probably those don’t have a Captain America suit in the closet. 

Bucky decides to let the bedroom issue go for now. Clearly he’s barking up the wrong tree. “We could fix it up,” Bucky says, and Steve looks surprised.

“Really?”

Bucky shrugs. “Sure, why not?”

Bucky realizes fairly quickly why his idea wasn’t the best – fixing up the place involves leaving it, and riding on subways, and going into crowded stores, none of which are really his favorite activities at the moment. But he powers through, and by the end of the day they are the new proud owners of a forest green throw blanket, matching pillows in green and gold, and some colorful pottery plates for the kitchen. It had been fun, teasing Steve about what color scheme to adopt (every time Bucky showed him something in red and blue, Steve blushed, and then they shoved each other, and it felt almost normal).

That night they eat the city’s finest delivery pizza on their new plates, and then sit on the couch watching television. He and Steve are sitting at either end, their feet in the middle, with the throw blanket stretching between them. 

“Guess we should have bought two blankets,” Steve comments, as they arrange themselves.

Really shouldn’t be a need for two, Bucky thinks. If you’d only move a little closer. But he can’t bring himself to say anything, or slide over next to Steve, or really do much of anything at all. Until Steve decides he’s had enough of television for the night, and it’s time to go to bed.

There’s an awkward moment where Bucky can see Steve trying to figure out how to get Bucky off the couch so he can go to sleep on it, and so Bucky just gets up and goes into the bedroom. But it’s cold, and quiet, and it’s not what he wants. He’s allowed to want things, he knows this, he’s been telling himself this for two years. He can have a plum if he wants one, if he’s got the money and there’s one for sale. But Steve isn’t a plum, and it’s not just up to him.

Bucky puts on his sleep pants and another long sleeved t-shirt, brushes his teeth, and then sits down on the edge of the bed and sighs, looking down at his feet. His toes look funny to him, but then he’s always thought his toes looked funny. There’s nothing actually scary about his toes. Not like the rest of him.

The floor under his feet is hardwood, and it could use some polishing. Or maybe a nice area rug. He’s drawn out of his thoughts by a knock on the bedroom door that makes him jump. Steve opens it slowly, and sticks his head in.

“Um, sorry, I forgot to get my stuff.” Steve goes into the bathroom, and when he comes out, he sits down next to Bucky on the edge of the bed and gives him an appraising look. “You okay, Buck?”

It’s the closest they’ve been all day, probably the closest since last night when Steve looped Bucky’s flesh arm over his shoulder to help him up the stairs. Bucky looks up at Steve and searches his eyes. He wants to kiss him, so badly he can taste it, can feel Steve’s lips on his. But he chickens out, and just leans his head on Steve’s broad shoulder. 

“Aw, Buck,” Steve says softly, bringing a hand up to pull him closer. It’s a gentle sort of hug, but it helps, and Bucky snuggles against him, breathing in the mint of Steve’s toothpaste.

Bucky knows that any minute Steve is going to pull away, and he’s willing himself to speak before he goes, to force the words out, but he can’t do it, and soon enough Steve is standing up. “Let me know if you need anything, okay?” Steve says, worry flickering over his face.

“I’m fine, Steve. ‘night.”

The next few days are much like the first – Steve is friendly and worried in turns, but not what Bucky expected. He wonders for a few panicked moments if maybe he’s misremembering, but he quickly discards the thought. There are a lot of things he’s uncertain about, but the true nature of his pre-war relationship with Steve Rogers is not one of them.

He takes a sleeping pill at night for a few days, not wanting to subject Steve to the full brunt of what he brings to the table. But he doesn’t like the way they make him feel, can’t get past the fear that something might happen and he wouldn’t be alert enough to handle it. 

As predicted, without the pills, his nightmares return. He jolts awake, sweaty and trembling, to a knock on the bedroom door.

“Bucky? Can I come in?”

“Yeah.” Bucky pushes himself up to a sitting position and runs a shaky hand through his hair. He blinks at the light from the hall as Steve comes in.

“You okay?”

“Was just a nightmare. Sorry I woke you.”

Steve shakes his head and sits down on the edge of the bed. “Don’t be sorry. I don’t sleep that much anyway.” He looks at Bucky, face full of concern. “Want to talk about it? Anything I can do?”

Bucky shrugs. “Nah. I’m okay now. Really.” 

But Steve doesn’t look convinced, and he slides closer to Bucky, wrapping his arm around his shoulders. It’s like that first night, except this time Bucky is still trembling from the effect of his nightmare (electricity shooting through his body, unable to move, freezing cold, the usual). Steve inches closer and pulls him into a hug, both arms wrapping around Bucky, and Bucky melts against him.

He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, but he gets his own arm around Steve’s waist, and holds on. Steve is bigger now, but he’s still safety, and rest, and home. 

Steve’s more than that, too. Bucky knows he’s remembering this right, he knows he is. He nuzzles in against Steve’s neck, his lips almost brushing his skin, and hopes.

Steve will probably leave once he’s sure Bucky is all right, like he did their first night in the apartment, but he doesn’t seem to be in any rush. Slowly, Bucky relaxes. Maybe Steve is on the same page after all.

“You want me to stay in here tonight?” Steve asks, and Bucky nearly swoons with relief. 

“Want you in here every night,” Bucky breathes out, the words finally released from his throat.

Steve gives him a look that Bucky can’t read, but he doesn’t think it’s bad. It’s absolutely not bad when Steve pulls back the covers on the bed and climbs in next to Bucky. They lie down facing each other, enough light to see still coming in from the hall.

Bucky’s lying on his real arm, as the shoulder where his new metal arm was recently attached is still a bit sore. But he wishes it was the other way around, because he wants to reach out and touch Steve, but only his metal arm is free. He must make some kind of aborted move, because Steve’s eyes flutter down, and then Steve is wrapping his hand around Bucky’s metal hand.

“It’s pretty cool,” Steve says, his thumb rubbing circles on Bucky’s palm. “You can feel this, right?”

Bucky nods. “Stark did an okay job.” He can feel the warmth of Steve’s skin, and every move of his thumb. The arm Stark made for him is actually pretty impressive. He could even take Steve’s pulse with his fingertip, but that’s beside the point at the moment.

“It’s good,” Steve says softly.

Bucky can feel his heart thudding inside his chest, and he gets the feeling Steve isn’t just talking about his arm. But he doesn’t know how to respond. So he sticks to the facts. “It’s quieter now,” Bucky replies. “And lighter. But still strong.” He huffs out a bitter laugh. “So at least part of me is.”

Steve grips Bucky’s hand tighter, and shakes his head against his pillow. “Not true. You’re the strongest man I know.”

Bucky knows what Steve’s trying to say, but he can’t agree. He let them break him. He let himself be used for unthinkable things. That’s never gonna change. But Bucky doesn’t want to argue with Steve. Not now, when he’s so close and warm next to him.

“That’s quite a compliment, coming from Captain America,” Bucky finally says, trying to get his voice to lighten up.

Steve purses his lips, accepting Bucky’s unwillingness to engage. “You’re Cap’s best pal, everyone knows that,” Steve says. “Says so in all the history books.”

Bucky’s read the books, seen the exhibit at the Smithsonian. Best pal, nothing more. Is that what Steve wants? 

He looks down to where Steve is still holding his hand, wrapped around his on the bed between them. He doesn’t know what to make of it. He hardly knows what to make of Steve. Steve is so big now, his broad shoulders taking up so much space, his stupid tight t-shirt stretching over his chest. His narrow waist, toned and defined, a strip of skin stubbornly taunting him. Strong legs, covered by the blankets but shifting as Steve moves. He’s perfect. The perfect soldier. The perfect man. 

No pressure, he thinks to himself. 

He knows Steve cares about him, but other than that, he can’t tell what else is going on. Has Steve been trying to give him space? Then what’s with the hand holding? And as much as Steve keeps mentioning needing to order a bed for the second bedroom he (thankfully) hasn’t done it yet, despite showing Bucky the website for a place that does same-day delivery. Bucky used to be able to read Steve so well. But that part of his brain seems to have been zapped away, and all he can do is guess.

Under the blankets, he pushes a foot forward, slowly, halting when his toes hit Steve’s calf, making him jump. Smooth move, Barnes.

“Bucky?” Steve’s looking at him oddly, probably wondering what the hell is wrong with him. 

“Yeah?”

Steve looks down, his long eyelashes brushing his cheeks. “Bucky, I…” He shakes his head, and tries again. “Do you…?” Steve glances up, bites his lip, and then looks away again. 

Bucky swallows hard. He doesn’t like the nervous look on Steve’s face. Steve never used to be nervous around him. “What?”

Steve grips his hand tighter, and meets his eyes. “What do you remember, about, um… us?”

Oh. _Oh…._ Bucky relaxes, and he can feel the smile spreading across his face. So that’s what Steve is worried about. No problem there, pal. He didn’t even need T’Challa’s docs to dig up those memories for him. “What about us?” he asks, so pleased with himself for remembering that he slips into teasing.

“Um…” Steve is turning red, and it’s adorable. Bucky sees him at sixteen, small and bony and yet so determined, and he can’t keep up the joke.

“I remember kissing you senseless every time we thought we could get away with it,” Bucky says. “Which wasn’t nearly as often as I would have liked.”

Steve’s face softens in relief. “You do remember.”

“I do.”

“You know, it’s not nearly as dangerous now. Two guys together.”

“I’ve figured that out.” Bucky may be a little dense, but he hasn’t been hiding under a literal rock for the past two years. Learning to survive in the world did teach him a few things. Even Budapest had a gay community, not that he had done much socializing. Any socializing.

Steve’s smile gets even broader, and he squeezes Bucky’s hand. Bucky’s getting a little tired of not being able to touch Steve properly, though, and he climbs over Steve, letting his hand – his real hand – pull Steve over to face him.

Steve reaches slowly towards Bucky’s face, and tucks his hair behind his ear. Bucky closes his eyes and leans into Steve’s touch. “You waiting for an invitation, pal?” he whispers, and Steve’s soft laugh puffs air across his cheek.

“Maybe I am.”

Bucky opens his eyes. Steve is just inches away, and Bucky reaches out with a hand behind his head and pulls him closer.

Their lips brush, softly at first, and then Bucky presses in, encouraging Steve, who lets out a delighted sound and returns the kiss. It doesn’t last long, Steve pulling back to check on Bucky – he’s always checking on Bucky, these days, but it doesn’t bother him, mostly – but Bucky’s good with this, he doesn’t want to stop.

He grabs Steve’s shoulder, leans up into him and kisses him again. Steve is holding him with both hands now, one still at his cheek, the other at his waist, and Bucky leans his chest against him, no longer worried about overpowering him like when they were kids, cutting off his hard-fought supply of air.

Steve seems to want Bucky to take the lead. Remarkably, he’s able to do so, not needing any further instructions. He lets his body take over, pressing kisses along Steve’s jaw, then getting at that spot on Steve’s neck that always made him squirm. Still does, he discovers happily, as Steve lets out a soft moan.

The sound goes straight to his dick, and Bucky starts to slide his thigh up over Steve’s, unable to think anything at all except the need to get closer. Steve’s hand on his waist tightens, and he shifts himself against Bucky, now kissing down Bucky’s throat, his mouth hot and wet and –

And then Bucky is shuffling backwards off the bed, landing hard on the floor, and he doesn’t know what happened. He’s overwhelmed, thoughts spinning, and it’s hard to breathe.

“Bucky? Hey, Buck, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

Bucky hears Steve’s voice, puts his hands up and shakes his head. “Don’t.” He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. He was supposed to be safe now.

“I’ll stay right here,” Steve says, his voice calm. “I’m here with you. But I won’t touch you unless you say it’s okay. Try to take deep breaths, all right?”

Bucky tries, and after a few shuddering attempts he gets almost a full breath in, then another. He opens his eyes and sees Steve crouching on the floor next to him, face full of concern.

He leans his face on his knees, hidden in the curtain of his hair. What a fuck-up he is.

“You’re not a fuck-up,” Steve says firmly.

Oops, guess he said that out loud.

“I am,” Bucky says stubbornly. But he inches closer to Steve and leans his head on his stupidly muscled shoulder. Steve puts his arm around him and holds him gently, letting Bucky turn and hide against Steve’s chest instead. It’s still awfully nice here, even with all the muscles.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Steve asks, his voice rumbling against Bucky’s ear.

Seems pretty clear to Bucky, but here in the future they’re all about words. “It’s just me.”

“I don’t accept that,” Steve says, and Bucky stiffens.

“No? Then what the hell are we doing?”

“Buck, no, that’s not… that’s not what I mean.” Steve puts his hands on Bucky’s shoulders – the real one, and the metal one, which still kind of smarts where Stark reattached it to his skin – and pushes back so Bucky can see his face. He’d really rather stay where he was, nestled against Steve, but he can tell when Steve needs to say something. 

“Bucky, I’ll take you any way I can get you, okay? I know you’re not the same guy you were – that’s not a problem for me. Never gonna be. I’m not the same guy I was either, you know.” Steve takes a long breath and lets it out slowly. “I’m definitely not.”

Bucky pokes a finger at Steve’s impressive pecs in agreement.

“Yeah, buddy, not just that.” Steve sighs again. “But if there’s stuff that makes you unhappy, makes you scared or anxious or whatever, I don’t think you need to just accept that. You can get better.” Steve lays his head on Bucky’s shoulder now, his hair tickling Bucky’s chin. “I’ve gotta believe that. ‘Cause I need to get better, too.”

Bucky thinks about this. He knows Steve’s also had a hard time. They both saw some pretty awful things, back before Bucky fell. And he knows how it must have hurt Steve to think Bucky died. He certainly knows how achingly hopeless he felt when they told him Steve was dead. He’s pretty sure Steve thought he didn’t have anything to live for when he crashed that plane into the water. Steve never counted on waking up to a new world all alone.

“Wish I was there for you. When you woke up.” And in my right mind, Bucky thinks. Cause being there as the Winter Soldier probably wouldn’t have done Steve any good. Even assuming his current state is any better.

“You’re here now.”

“Not much use, though.”

“Yeah you are,” Steve whispers. “If you don’t believe me now, that’s okay. Doesn’t change the truth. I’ll keep saying it until you do.”

*****  
Bucky has a therapist. He can’t avoid it, not with earnest superheroes constantly telling him how important it is for him to talk to someone who isn’t either Steve or one of Steve’s co-workers. Her name is Sabrina, and she has short blond hair cut in a sharp looking asymmetrical bob that curls around one side of her chin. Bucky wonders if he could cut his hair that way. But then he wouldn’t be able to pull it back anymore, and he likes doing that, especially when he’s working out. So he probably won’t.

He talks to Sabrina three times a week – once in person, when they meet at a room in Stark Tower, and twice more by Skype. He hasn’t admitted it yet but he likes the in person meetings better. He feels safe enough in the Tower, and he likes how Tony always finds a way to say hi, pretending he has a critically important message for Steve (who always comes along and waits in the common area).

The fact that Tony has forgiven him should surprise him more than it does, he thinks. But he sees something in Tony that he recognizes, a fear that the hurt he’s put into the world can’t ever be balanced. Tony’s working on it, though, with boatloads of money and brilliant schemes to make the world a better place. And, apparently, by supporting the Avengers despite all of their flaws. Flaws which he figures now include him, Captain America’s best friend and a former assassin who just by coincidence happened to kill Tony’s parents.

“Tony figures you were the weapon, not the shooter,” Natasha had told him one night. Bucky had been in surgery just the day before, and Steve hadn’t left his side – although right now he was passed out in a chair, head leaning on his arms at the foot of Bucky’s bed. Natasha seemed to take this as an invitation to talk. She doesn’t have any trouble asking Bucky direct questions, and it’s refreshing, not having to worry so much about every word that comes out of his mouth. He doesn’t want to upset Steve, but even the most mundane conversations between them sometimes leave Steve looking sad. He can’t tell when he’ll trip up, reveal how much he’s no longer the man Steve used to know.

Bucky shakes his head, trying to put his conversation with Natasha aside and focus on what he’s supposed to be doing – namely, talking to Sabrina about what’s going on with Steve. It’s the morning after they kissed (he almost sees the words in dramatic lettering in his head) and by coincidence, he has an in-person session with Sabrina today. Sometimes timing works out for him.

They’re at Stark Tower, in the comfortable room they use for these meetings. Sabrina’s in an armchair across from him, her legs tucked up underneath her. Bucky’s sitting on the couch, a steaming cup of tea on the low table in front of him. He’s not a huge fan of tea, but Sabrina offered, and it’s a pretty good prop when he needs something to do with his hands.

It’s not as if anyone told him he needs to talk to Sabrina about this, but he finds himself wanting to. This alone is miracle enough, and he hopes it is a good sign. Partly he just kind of wants to shout it from the rooftops – listen everybody, Steve still wants me – and partly he wants to make sure he’s not going to fuck things up further than he already has. Why he trusts Sabrina to help him out, he’s not exactly sure. But he used to be a pretty good judge of character, so who knows.

*****  
After his session with Sabrina, he meets Steve in the gym. He’s stretching on a mat with Clint, who gets up when he sees Bucky.

“How’s the arm?” Clint asks, and it’s friendly enough.

“Pretty good. A little sore, still.”

Clint nods. “Let me know if you ever want to work out. Don’t want you to get bored with Cap, here.”

Not much chance of boredom, Bucky thinks, but it’s a kind offer. “Thanks.”

Clint leaves, and he’s alone with Steve.

“Want to get changed and do some weights? Or…”

Steve has gone shy, and Bucky smiles. He’s supposed to wait a few more days before putting too much stress on his recently reattached arm, and he can think of better things to do than spend the rest of the morning in the gym.

“Or,” Bucky chooses, nodding. 

Back at Steve’s apartment, they make sandwiches for lunch, turkey and cheese and some kind of basil and garlic spread that Steve claims he’ll love- he does – and then putter around cleaning up for a few minutes. Then they settle in front of the television, hardly able to look each other in the eye as they pretend to concentrate on selecting a movie to watch, when they both know it hardly matters. Not with the way Steve flushes whenever he catches Bucky looking at him, and how Bucky can feel his heart speed up when Steve brushes his hand to grab some popcorn.

They sit on the couch in silence for a while, watching some romantic comedy from thirty years ago that someone put on Steve’s list of necessary viewing, and then Steve lets out a soft laugh. “Come here, you.” Steve reaches for him, and Bucky slides over, tucking himself against Steve’s side. Steve is so warm, now, strong and sturdy and alive. Steve touches Bucky’s head, slides his fingers into his hair, and Bucky sighs contentedly.

“This okay?” Steve whispers, and Bucky nods against his chest.

“Very okay.”

“How was your talk with Sabrina?”

Bucky grins, and pulls back to look at Steve. “Really good.”

“Yeah?” Steve is trying to keep the surprise off his face, Bucky can tell. Most of his conversations with Sabrina aren’t exactly puppies and ice cream.

“Yeah. She, um… she said she was happy for me.” Bucky can feel his grin stretching his cheeks, and sees a mirroring smile on Steve’s face, his eyes lighting up to match. 

“You told her about us?”

Bucky nods. “Yup.”

“And she says it’s okay?” Steve’s hopeful expression makes something inside Bucky loosen up, makes his words flow easier.

Bucky laughs. “It’s not like I needed her permission, dumbass. Just wanted to see if she had any suggestions.”

Steve looks a little lost, but then his expression grows serious. “It’s not going to make things harder for you, is it?”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Ideally, it is.”

Steve face palms. “Jerk.”

“Punk.”

“No, come on.” Steve raises his head and looks at Bucky. “Just tell me, okay? Don’t let me make any more of a fool outta myself than I already do on a regular basis.”

Bucky folds a leg under himself and turns to face Steve. This is important, and he wants to get this out, even if it’s uncomfortable as hell. “She’s happy for me. Says it’s healthy, to be able to be… open with you. As long as I keep making other friends, too.”

“Making friends… sounds like my ma,” Steve says, frowning.

“She also said what happened last night was normal. Normal for me, anyway.”

Steve’s eyes widen. “When you got scared?”

“I wasn’t scared so much as… overwhelmed, I think. But yeah.”

Steve takes his hand and squeezes it. “So what do we do?”

Bucky doesn’t miss the “we” in this sentence. Damn it if Steve isn’t the best team player in history. He repeats what Sabrina said when he asked the same thing. “Take it slow. Listen to each other. Be patient.”

He waits a beat, while Steve looks earnestly back and him, and Bucky can’t help but laugh. “Should be a breeze, right, Stevie? ‘Cause we all know how good you are at being patient.”

Steve laughs too, and pulls him into a hug. “I’ll work on it, Bucky. Anything for you, pal.”

*****

After the movie they wander back into the kitchen. Steve eats constantly these days. That superhero metabolism is no joke. Bucky suspects there’s a little bit of psycho-something going on there, too. They never had enough to eat, growing up poor in the ‘30’s. It’s a luxury to have as much food as they do, here in the future.

“We’ve got ice cream, if you want it. Vanilla, and chocolate chip, and maybe some strawberry,” Steve offers as he makes himself another sandwich.

Bucky opens the freezer and wrinkles his nose as a puff of cold air hits him. Steve makes a choked kind of noise, and Bucky turns, the carton of ice cream still in his hand.

“What is it?”

Steve is staring at him, looking stricken. “I should have kissed you before you went into cryo in Wakanda. Shouldn’t have let you go in there again without saying something. Without letting you know how I felt. What if you never came out of it? What if I never got the chance?”

Bucky’s heart aches a little for Steve, for them both. There are too many what if’s in their history to count. But this one, at least, they don’t have to worry about anymore.

“I wasn’t exactly in a kissing mood,” Bucky says, trying to keep it light. “Just wanted to keep everyone safe.”

“I know,” Steve says, swallowing hard. “And I respected your choice. Still do. But you have to know – I would have kissed you then. I wanted to. I just didn’t have time to figure out if you wanted me to. It happened so fast, we just got there and then you said you were going back into cryo-” Steve turns away, shoulders curving in.

“I knew how you felt, Steve. You went to war for me. Fought your best friend.”

“Tony’s not my best friend,” Steve objects.

Bucky shakes his head. Stubborn. He puts a hand on Steve’s back, and can feel his breath hitching. “I’m sorry, Stevie.”

“You shouldn’t have to be sorry,” Steve says, voice tight.

“I’m not sorry I did it. But I’m sorry it hurt you.”

Steve turns back to him, his eyes wet. “You did the right thing. I just… I missed you so much, Bucky, while you were gone.” Steve leans in and almost collapses against Bucky’s chest, too big to hide himself there like he used to when they were kids. “Can’t tell you how much I missed you.”

“Missed you too, pal,” Bucky says, rubbing his hands on Steve’s back. “Missed you too.”

That night they’re subdued, Bucky spending some time reading, Steve in the kitchen with a laptop doing some Avengers-related work. Bucky watches Steve from his spot on the couch, notices when Steve gets bored with what he’s doing and glances up at Bucky, gives him a little smile and then refocuses on his work. Bucky gets a flash of memories, coming home to their crappy little apartment in Brooklyn, Steve looking up at him from where he was sitting at the table with a sketch pad. Earlier still, doing homework together, on the floor in Bucky’s tiny bedroom. Maybe some things really haven’t changed.

Steve yawns, stretching out his arms, and Bucky’s mind snaps back to the present. This Steve has the most gorgeous arms… not that he didn’t love Steve-from-before, with his skinny limbs and fragile health. He did, with his whole heart. But as much as some things may be similar to that world, there’s no denying the differences, either.

Bucky reads for a while more, but his head is starting to hurt, and he finally puts the book down, leaning back against the couch.

“Tired?” Steve asks.

Bucky’s brain gets stuck, for a minute. He’s not tired, not sleepy, anyway. But is he supposed to say yes? Is Steve just trying to move them on to the next activity? 

Steve closes his laptop and comes over to him, studying him carefully. Bucky feels like a lab experiment. It’s not an unusual feeling these days.

“Back rubs used to help with those headaches,” Steve says, sitting down on the couch next to him.

“I used to get headaches?” Bucky asks. He figured it was just due to all the abuse his head has taken over the past seventy years.

“Everybody gets headaches,” Steve says mildly. He pushes at Bucky’s shoulder until he turns and Steve can get his hands on his back. “But yeah. You always got headaches, especially when you read for too long. Never would listen to me when I told you to get your eyes checked out.”

Steve has his hands on the back of Bucky’s neck, squeezing and kneading, and it feels fantastic. Bucky leans his head forward to give him more space to work. His hair’s kind of in the way, but Steve just slides his hands underneath it, working firmly with his fingers. It’s heavenly.

“You’re saying I need glasses, pal?”

Steve leans closer. “You’d look hot in glasses,” he whispers into Bucky’s ear.

The temperature in the apartment suddenly seems to rise by about a hundred degrees, and Bucky shifts on the couch. 

“Thought you were trying to get rid of my headache,” Bucky says, not sure where this is going, but willing to play along.

“There’s more than one way to take your mind off it,” Steve says, his voice low, and then bursts out laughing. “Oh fuck, I’m sorry, that sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it?”

Bucky turns to him, amused at Steve’s distress. “Such a smooth talker,” he teases, grinning.

“I haven’t had a lot of practice,” Steve says, sighing and looking intently at Bucky. 

“No?” It’s been a long time since they were together. Granted, Steve was asleep for most of it, but since waking back up Bucky figured he would have had plenty of people willing to keep company with him, in one form or another.

Steve shakes his head, and buries his face in Bucky’s shoulder. “You’ll have to be patient with me, too. I don’t want to screw this up.”

“You and me both, buddy.” Bucky stands up from the couch, his legs stiff, and takes Steve’s hand. “Come on, bedtime.”

They get changed and slide under the covers, facing each other like the night before, except that this time Bucky remembers to leave his real arm free from the get go. 

“Guess that’s gonna be your side of the bed,” Steve says, taking note as Bucky settles on the right half of the bed. “I don’t mind your arm, though. You know that, don’t you?”

Bucky shrugs against the pillow. “It’s still weird. And this one’s new.” He shifts and sits up, getting his metal arm out from underneath him and wiggling his fingers. “Feels a little different.”

“Still getting used to it?”

“I guess.” Bucky hasn’t been paying much attention to it, honestly. It’s easier not to think too hard about how this metal thing is actually part of his body. But maybe Steve has. “You let me know, all right, if it’s ever too much? If I hurt you?”

Steve looks concerned. “You’re not gonna hurt me, Buck.”

“Steve, it’s a great piece of tech, but it’s still made out of metal. If I touch you the wrong way-”

“Try it out, then,” Steve interrupts. He sits up, facing Bucky, and brings Bucky’s metal hand to his face. 

Bucky freezes for a moment, then tries to forget about the fact that his hand is connected to him with wires and steel instead of bone and sinew, and just act normally. He cups Steve’s cheek, feeling the warmth in his skin, the faint stubble on his jaw.

Steve leans into the touch, and holds Bucky’s gaze. “I think you’re gonna do fine,” he says softly. Still holding Bucky’s hand to his face, Steve leans in and kisses him, chapped lips pressing firmly against Bucky’s, his intent clear.

Bucky kisses back, slowly at first, then intensifying the kiss. He parts his lips and Steve licks into his mouth, biting down gently on his bottom lip. Bucky hears himself let out a soft moan, and it would be embarrassing if the whole thing wasn’t so incredibly hot.

Steve’s hand is on Bucky’s lower back, tugging him closer, and Bucky complies happily. He slides his leg between Steve’s thighs, a part of his mind on alert for any signs of panic, but he’s fine. Steve hums praise into his ear as he starts to kiss along Bucky’s jaw, and Bucky lets himself go, losing himself in the sensation of finally having Steve close, touching him everywhere.

Steve pauses and Bucky opens his eyes, a flicker of doubt running through him, but Steve is smiling and pulling at his shirt. “Okay if I take this off?” Steve asks, and Bucky laughs.

“Sure.” Bucky pulls off his own shirt. He’s a little self-conscious about how he looks, his skin badly scarred where the metal arm meets his chest, but Steve’s seen it all before. Seen him without any arm there at all, and after surgery, when it looked even worse. 

Any lingering hesitation about whether Steve would have a problem still being attracted to him is washed away when Steve pushes him back into the pillows and begins kissing down his neck and nibbling on his collarbone. He traces his tongue along the edge of the metal plate that curves around his shoulder, little kitten licks and then longer swipes. It’s good – very good – sending a combination of sensations, from the unharmed skin, the scar tissue which has less feeling, and the prosthetic which transmits an enhanced and not-quite-natural sensation. 

Steve looks up at him, checking in again, and Bucky realizes he’s clutching at Steve’s shoulder with his good hand, and pressing his hard-on against Steve’s hip. “You all right up there?” Steve asks, grinning, and Bucky can’t find words, just drags Steve up and attacks his mouth. Clearly it’s answer enough, and Steve responds eagerly.

Things escalate quickly, Bucky tugging at the button on Steve’s jeans until the two of them pull apart, both scrambling to get the rest of their clothes off, and then surging back together, Bucky’s hands framing Steve’s face and kissing him soundly.

Steve falls on to his back and pulls Bucky on top of him, spreading his legs, and sliding his hands down Bucky’s back. Bucky is loving it, chest pressed against Steve’s ridiculously defined pecs, and he lets his hips grind against Steve. They’re both hard, and it feels so good, it’s all Bucky can do not to whine when Steve goes still and puts a hand to Bucky’s cheek.

“You sure?” Steve asks, and Bucky groans and grabs Steve’s hand, moving it off his face and down to his ass. 

“I’m sure.”

Steve still doesn’t move, doesn’t grip his ass and press them together the way Bucky is craving.

“I don’t know, your therapist said to go slow…” If it weren’t for the teasing note in Steve’s voice, Bucky might just slug him. And there’s a part of him that loves Steve even more for this, for giving him a chance to pause, and ground himself, even if he’s pretty sure he doesn’t need it.

“Punk,” Bucky replies.

“Jerk,” Steve returns. “Figures you would – ah, fuck-” Steve’s words are cut off as Bucky slides a hand between them and wraps it around Steve’s cock. Steve’s head falls back, and Bucky licks a stripe up the side of his neck. Steve’s starting to tremble underneath him, and he draws himself back from the edge to get with the program, squeezing Bucky’s ass and shifting until he can get a hand around Bucky as well.

It’s a little dry at first, but neither of them is in any mood to slow down again, and soon enough it doesn’t matter anymore. Steve gets his hand around both of them and Bucky strokes up over Steve’s chest, rubbing at a nipple and then sucking it between his teeth.

“Fuck, yes,” Steve rambles. “So good, Bucky. Feels so good.”

They’re both panting now, close, and Steve kisses him, sloppy and wet. Bucky kisses back. “Come on, Steve. Come for me. Come on.”

Apparently that’s all it takes, and Steve is arching up against him, shouting his name. Moments later electricity sparks through Bucky and he’s coming too, his whole world lighting up like the fourth of July.

It’s the most wonderful feeling, Bucky thinks as he dozes against Steve’s chest, tugged there by strong arms, knowing he’s exactly where he belongs. Safe, and loved. He doesn’t think things could get any better.

He opens his eyes and Steve is staring at him, fond and almost awed, and Bucky grins. “Doing okay there, pal?”

Steve nods. “Glad I waited for the right partner,” he says, almost bashful.

“Even if it took a while?” 

Steve’s eyes go wide, and Bucky almost feels badly for bringing reality into their cozy moment. “I’d wait for you forever.”

“Sap,” Bucky says, but he leans up to press a soft kiss against Steve’s forehead, and then kisses down over his eyes, lashes tickling against his lips, to his mouth. “Thanks for waiting,” he says softly. “Thanks for fighting for me.”

“’Course,” Steve says, voice tight with emotion. He exhales shakily. “I love you, Bucky,” Steve breathes out, raising a hand to brush the hair out of Bucky’s eyes. “Love you so much.”

“Love you too.” Bucky snuggles in closer, relaxing as Steve’s arms wrap firmly around him. He never thought it would be possible to feel this way. Never though this could ever be his life. But he’s going to do whatever it takes to keep it. ‘Til the end of the line.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Tegan and Sara’s “Closer.”
> 
> Thanks as always to perry_avenue for the beta read!


End file.
